


Savour

by Chessurkitty987



Series: Blood in the streets [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Background Character Death, Biting, Blood Drinking, Bruce has a moral crisis, M/M, and Jeremiah has no chill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15162719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chessurkitty987/pseuds/Chessurkitty987
Summary: “You know, they haven’t been feeding me at all.”“Did you give them any ideas about where to start?”





	Savour

The only part of Jeremiah Valeska that didn’t look sickly in some way were his eyes, almost as pale as his skin in the dim light, dancing between the bars of his cell and Bruce standing just outside them.

“You know, they haven’t been feeding me at all.”

“Did you give them any ideas about where to start?”

“No,” he said, bright eyes showing disdain as they flitted to a small pile of untouched food inside the door, “but they should have at least realised that something isn’t working by now.”

Bruce pushed the food outside the cell as soon as he opened the door, making sure that it closed behind him again; it was a bad idea, but this entire scenario was a bad idea. He shouldn’t care whether or not Arkham staff ignored Jeremiah’s deteriorating state. He shouldn’t have come here without telling anybody what he was planning. He shouldn’t have let this thing between them continue for as long as it had.

_You shouldn’t have, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t enjoy it._

Jeremiah moved quickly given how unwell he appeared, almost coiling around him as soon as he came to a stop, and he wondered how long it had been since another person had come in to the cell. Then hands tugged at the back of his mask, pulling it up his face, and he grabbed Jeremiah’s arms on instinct to stop it from going further.

“What? Are you afraid I’ll find out what I already know?” 

He’d cut the camera before he got here and wouldn’t activate it again until he wanted to. Shamelessly lax in comparison to how he dealt with other confined criminals, even if he could find excuses for it.

_No risk of being seen by others._

Bruce’s grip loosened after a moment and Jeremiah smiled, pulling the mask the rest of the way off, and this close he could feel a rush of air from the satisfied sound that came after. He let him drop the mask to the ground haphazardly and move closer, seeing interest and tension under his expression; no matter how different he looked, Bruce could still read the pale eyes perfectly. Then suddenly Jeremiah was closer than he thought, eyes disappearing as he nuzzled in to the crook of his neck.

“You know, you could have the finest five-star meal and the cheapest re-formed shit in the city, but when you put them in front of a starving man, he won’t care how good the food is…”

The words were quiet and Bruce could feel the strain in Jeremiah’s body from holding back, even if his hands were still loose around his shoulders. The other man was almost mouthing at his neck, distracted from what he’d been saying and only seemed to come back to himself when a little distance was put between them. 

“Bruce, I- “ Jeremiah cut off, snarling softly as Bruce tried to pull away further, making sure he stayed in place and moving back to his neck, “Bruce I want to be able to _savour_ you, but I’m starved. I’ll try to be careful but- well. If I’m not, then you can’t really protest.”

He could feel the sly smile forming against his neck and wanted to hate how his pulse picked up at what was being suggested, but there was a hand threading through his hair and it was so much easier to just move with it rather than think. Bruce knew that later he could claim some kind of manipulation, or an attack like last time; anything other than the truth, that he’d allowed this to happen again. 

_Wanted it to happen, somewhere._

Then there were teeth dragging along his skin hard enough to leave marks, which Bruce suspected Jeremiah only did now to feel him shiver, fear and anticipation having become one and the same a long time ago. He was about to say something when finally, teeth sank in and wiped his mind clean of anything that wasn’t that pain, radiating down his arm and up his jaw as the other man shifted to get a better angle, or widen the punctures. It only began to dull when Jeremiah let go and the wet sound accompanying the movement shouldn’t have been so relieving, because it meant far too much familiarity with what was happening. But Bruce was familiar with it, knowing how to angle his head to stop his hair being tugged too much, and what kind of reactions to let out that wouldn’t push things further. As the pain lowered to a steady pulse, he tried to focus on breathing, on blood loss symptoms, on not panicking like his instincts demanded. 

He couldn’t pull away and aggravate the situation.  
He couldn’t lose track of how much blood was taken.  
He couldn’t notice how close they were for this to happen.  
He couldn’t pay attention to how Jeremiah was snarling, _moaning_ into his neck as he fed.  
He couldn’t get lost in it – but God did he _want_ to.

When the door opened with a painfully slow clatter, Bruce realised he’d lost track of how much time had passed. Jeremiah snarled, a more vicious sound than before, at being interrupted with his meal. 

_Meal. That’s what this is. All this is, that’s…_

Bruce felt hyperaware of warm blood pooling at the neckline of his suit, felt his hand being pulled up to the wound for him with the instruction to ‘Press.’, drawn out in to another round of snarls. Even if he hadn’t noticed Jeremiah pulling back too late, he doubted that he would have been able to stop him; as soon as the bodily support was gone it was all he could do to stay upright, swaying, dizzy and nauseated. As his vision began to shrink at the edges he closed his eyes, trying to fight through the feeling and hearing violent screaming somewhere beyond it. When Bruce next opened his eyes to a spinning world, he saw Jeremiah crouched and panting. It took longer to see that he was on top of a sluggishly bleeding corpse dressed in uniform. He turned, giving Bruce a glimpse of a deeply satisfied expression and another sly smile, the blood spattered across his face offsetting the pale skin and eyes.

Bruce knew something so clearly predatory shouldn’t be enticing.  
He didn’t know if he cared enough at this moment to deny it.

Jeremiah knew all of this if that look was anything to go by, no longer crouched and making his way back over to Bruce as though nothing had happened, as though the lower half of his face wasn’t smeared in blood. He fought off another wave of nausea with a grimace, doubling over a little and caught sight of the torn leftovers of the guard’s throat. 

_Just grit your teeth and ignore it._  
_Close your eyes, and try to breathe._  
_You’ve seen worse, you’ve felt worse-_

There were hands pushing him back up by his shoulders, sliding around his neck, and by the time Bruce could focus enough to open his eyes, his head was resting on Jeremiah’s shoulder. There was something tugging at the hand on his neck, then the bottom of his glove, and it could have been fingers right up until he remembered where Jeremiah’s hands were; then it was his _teeth_ and Bruce swore he could feel warmth through the leather. His breath caught and he felt a silent laugh brush his skin as the other man shifted his angle.

“I won’t…” It was hardly the strong rebuke he would have liked to give but he was still leaning in to him heavily, still allowing him to continue tugging at his hand.

“What if I asked nicely? Would you stop being so stubborn?” Jeremiah’s mouth pressed just below his ear, leaving a sticky imprint, “Come on. Please?”

It could have been a promise by this point; I won’t hurt you, this will feel good, you _need_ this. He no longer had to say these things to get Bruce to pull his hand away, let his head be pulled back, let Jeremiah hold him up through increasing waves of dizzy nausea as he tried to stay as awake and alert as possible. This was a much more languid experience, with less blood lost and a lower risk of aggravating Jeremiah now that he’d been sated, which left Bruce trying not to focus on how close he was again and how satisfied he seemed to be with the situation. There were no teeth this time, just a slow pressure and the itch of drying blood across his skin that didn’t distract him from the twinges of pain each time his head was moved. 

Eventually the pressure stopped and there was a moment of discomfort as cold air rushed in to the space between them, then Jeremiah moved back in to lick at what was left. Bruce couldn’t stop a quiet groan because it pulled at the wound, because the skin was still sensitive, because it felt wet, and warm, and _greedy._

He wanted to sink in to it.

Jeremiah pulled away again soon as he noticed, leaving a damp trail along Bruce’s jaw and a kiss that was far too simple, too gentle, to match the hunger on his face.

“Weren’t you ever told not to play with your food?”

Bruce could feel the amusement radiating from the other man and he was rewarded with another, deeper kiss that he let himself fall in to. When Jeremiah pulled back, he pulled the discarded and forgotten mask back over Bruce’s head with a smile that was still as red as his lips. 

“I said I intended to savour you, didn’t I?”


End file.
